From The Corners Of Their Eyes
by Aspen Snow
Summary: From the corners of their eyes all they can see are shadows of each other...


**From The Corner Of Their Eyes**

He stands at the edges of cliffs, feet brushing loose dirt into the empty space, eyes drifting over rocks and brush and through spiraling mists of gray searching for the bottom the end the _rest_ of what is missing.

He stands and wonders what his life _could_ _have been_ if he had just been different.

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She stands in front of wells, brown and broken, hands resting on splintered edges, feet firmly planted in grass too green to be real and eyes searching through darkness for faint shimmers of something anything _everything_.

She stands and wonders what her life _should have been_ if she had just been normal.

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He walks runs _flies_ through meadows and forests and wars and centuries and time. He's seen so much ─ _everything ─ _and now he has time to waste throw away _forget_. He stops every once in awhile in those places that live in the corners of his world, those places faded and aged and blurry.

He starts with the places he wanted to forget like the locked barred _darkened_ room where his mother used to laugh smile _love_. Because the memory of pain anger _hurt_ is so distant it's hardly a feeling at all until he steps into that room and he _chokes_ on it all.

He stops and wonders when he started _needing _the pain.

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She walks crawls _slowly_ through hallways and streets and school and life and time and the _future_. She's seen so much of the past ─ _everything_ ─ and now she has to make room for what she hasn't had time to see, like everything _else_. She runs every once in awhile through those things and places that she has already seen.

She starts with the places she can't forget like the old imposing _ancient_ tree that is always right _there_. Because out of the corner of her eye she still sees a flash of red white _gold_ and she remembers the half tortured man _boy_ who sat there and the grief pain _loss_ is still so raw it burns.

She runs and wonders when she started feeling _only_ the pain.

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He trails his fingers slowly gently _tenderly_ over things soft and smooth and he _hates_ himself for it. Because no one knows what its like to be the _bad_ man. No one knows what it's like to be hated _always_ fated _always_ to be the enemy. No one knows what its like to secretly want desire _covet_ everything he has told himself he doesn't _shouldn't_ need.

Like he wants freedom because he has always been powerful wealthy_ demon_ but he's _never_ been free. He has more ties than a man of his stature should. He's tied to the memory legacy _mistakes_ of his father to his lands that grow expand _consume _him and to his name because he _is_ perfect and he _does _kill.

His fingers trail over all the things he has never really but really _always_ desired and he wonders if he has always _always_ wanted to be someone _anyone_ else.

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Her fingers reach grab _hold on_ to things hard and rough and she _hates_ herself for it. Because no one knows what it's like to be the _good_ girl. No one knows what it's like to be expected _always _fated _always_ to do the right thing. No one knows what it's like to hate loathe _fear_ everything that she is and _should be_ responsible for.

Like she hates _his_ death because she didn't belong there in that time place _era_ but she _was _there and it _was_ her fault and she thinks she will never forget the blood the tears _the end_. And she hates the fact that in a _real_ world she would have _never been there_.

Her fingers grab onto all the things jagged uncomfortable _selfish_ and all those things she never should have lost because she _knows_ she used to be someone else and she is so _tired_ of losing things people _everything._

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Every once in awhile when he takes the time to walk crawl _slowly_ through his time he _sees_ blue eyes black hair and hands fragile and weak and _so desperate _to be strong.

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Every once in awhile when she runs through her time she _sees_ golden eyes raging and quiet and strong and turbulent and she's going so fast _too_ fast that she sometimes forgets the eyes she sees aren't _always_ the same.

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He thinks he didn't always want her. She was always partly stupid partly courageous partly beautiful partly plain but she was always _always_ human.

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She thinks she has always wanted him. Because he was the _bad_ man and she was the _good_ girl and he wanted nothing from her _nothing_ but her death. Nobody else wanted _that._

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There were times he tried to kill her times he ignored her times he didn't _know _her times he _didn't care_.

And it disturbs him, more than he is willing to admit, that he doesn't know anymore which _time_ he prefers.

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There were times he tried to kill her times he _was _the enemy times he _had_ to be feared.

Except she never really _wanted _to kill him never ignored him never _not cared_.

And it disturbs her, more than she is willing to admit, that wanting him never really disturbed her at all.

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He feels too much. Fingers on his skin whispers in the air. Things so soft things so tender things so _fragile_ he never felt them before.

He can't remember the cold metallic weight of a sword in his hand or the white steely hardness of bone or that pulling stretching _tension_ before it breaks. He can't remember the precision of his practiced _perfected_ movements. He can't remember all these things these feelings thatare _were_ him.

All there is now is fingers on his skin whispers in the air. Cold fingertips grasping for _holding onto_ his hand and a trembling voice so weak so _there _so carelessly replacing all those things comfortable and familiar all those things he knows _knew_.

He wonders when the frail things started haunting him.

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She feels too much of _nothing_. Faint echoing traces of things once poignant and so _strong_.

It used to be who she was. The human girl who tried too much gave too much loved too much _lost_ too much. Everything was just _too_ much it suffocated her burned away everything until she was left with wisps of feeling ghostlike and invisible.

She can't remember the delicious warmth of sunshine and smiles. She can't remember the careless dip into conversation companionship _intimacy_. She can't remember contact and warmth. She can't remember the touch of _anyone_.

She can't remember her heart falling her heart _breaking_.

She _knows_ she wanted to forget.

But she wonders when all the _nothing_ started haunting her.

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He scoffs _sneers_ at the idea of love partly because it is a habit and mostly because he doesn't understand it and because it takes soft things tender things _weak _things to feel it.

Except he's started feeling those things its all his fingers can remember now all his eyes seem to want to _see_ so he thinks that maybe ─ _maybe ─ _ he might have loved two humans with hair so black eyes so _sad_.

He wonders if he has always been searching for something someone _anything_ to love.

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She was always _always_ in love with the idea of love partly because she was taught to be and mostly because she _wanted _to be. Moonlight and roses red romance in the air. These were her dreams. They were all soft and silky rose petals and whimsical _fanciful_ shades of pink and red.

Except they started to slip away when red turned out to be the color of blood and the moonlight only ever showed that she could never _ever_ have _him._ And she's started feeling all those things hard and sharp like anger hate grief _ache_ that it's all her dreams can remember now so she thinks that maybe ─ _maybe ─_ she might not have loved one hanyou with hair so white and eyes so _sad_.

She wonders if she has always been searching for someone _anyone_ who she _couldn't_ love.

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Her touch was all soft and cold so achingly _slow_. As if all the feeling had been sucked out of her and her fingers were exploring searching trying so desperately to _remember_ that simmering life that burned beneath the skin.

He wonders why he so badly wants her to find it _in him_.

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His touch was all rough and warm and so surprisingly _fast_. As if he were afraid that too prolonged of contact would reveal something _anything_ about him. His fingers are always rushing always _moving_ as if he were trying to outrun _hide from_ all that warmth and life that is chasing after him.

She wonders when she started wishing she had something _anything_ to run from.

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When she leaves he wants to almost _needs_ to say he will miss her eyes her face _her_. Except he _knows _that it isn't enough.

He wonders when he started needing wanting something _more_ than just the words.

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When she leaves she wants to almost _needs _to hug him embracehim _hold onto_ him. Except she _knows_ that he won't understand it.

She wonders when she started needing wanting _just_ the words.

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From the corner of his eye he catches a glimpse of lonely sad eyed girl who felt _too_ much loved _so _much lost it _all_ and he thinks _had_ he been different like her he would have ended up here anyways.

Alone and running from all the things he _shouldn't _feel.

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From the corner of her eye she catches a glimpse of a hard man with cold eyes that rage so bright who felt too _little_ loved too _little_ lost nothing at _all_ until it all caught up with him made him want to _run_ from it all and she thinks _had_ she been normallike him she would have ended up here anyways.

Alone and running from all the things she _used_ to feel.


End file.
